


Dusk

by sciencebluefeelings



Series: Trials of the Flesh [2]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Non-Human Genitalia, Public Masturbation, Public Use, Sexual Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-17 10:42:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21053072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sciencebluefeelings/pseuds/sciencebluefeelings
Summary: Ambassador Spock cannot afford to walk away from this negotiation.Prompt: Tied to a pole





	Dusk

**Author's Note:**

> Prequel to _Disclosure._

Spock allows himself to be led to the center of the forum. He avoids eye contact with the staring passerby. It is unclear whether they are staring at the two towering soldiers escorting him, or at himself, with his red string tied loosely around his neck. The diplomat that Spock was most unfortunate to have to bargain with follows closely behind, a neutral expression on his face.

Spock maintains his rigid expression as the soldiers guide him onto the platform before stripping him of his dark robe and undergarments, then his sandals. A soldier stretches one of Spock's arms up, cuffing it to the pole at the center of the platform. Mental blocks are already in place and Spock hears nothing as the guard touches him. His touch against bare skin burns regardless. The material of the pole feels cold as it presses into Spock's bare back. The ground beneath is tacky. 

The bodyguard gives Spock a cursory brush between his legs with his gloved hand. Spock jerks but doesn't make a sound. He keeps staring straight ahead at the gathering crowd filled with expressions of ugly intent.

The bodyguard jeers. The diplomat runs a hand down Spock's side. "Remember, Ambassador," the slinky diplomat says into his ear. "The crowd likes a show. But if you struggle enough to break the restraints with that Vulcan strength, all bets are off. No returned war prisoners for your precious Federation."

Spock pretends not to hear, keeping his face perfectly neutral. The diplomat purses his mouth and plucks at the red string around Spock's neck. "You should be thanking us for our generosity, Ambassador. The average time for pole public service is forty-eight hours. We merely ask for twelve, and are permitting you ten minutes to prepare yourself."

Spock closes his eyes in grief for those that were chained here before him. But he does not have long to linger in what has already happened.

"Have you changed your mind about those ten minutes, Ambassador?"

Spock grits his teeth and reaches between his legs with his free hand. He will not have adequate time to fully prepare himself. The most that Spock will be able to do is ease the worst of the ordeal. Spock thinks with a grim internal smile of the irony of the situation - the various ambassadors that 'negotiated' with him prior to this agreement entered Spock without giving him time to prepare at all.

Spock presses between the folds of his slit and rubs his inner sheath with trembling fingers. He thinks of solitude, of privacy shared with certain bright eyes and a smirk across pink lips. 

He pretends the soul of that beautiful young face desires him, that he is the one touching Spock, desperate with need but willing to take his time to avoid hurting him.

Spock brings the hand to his nipple, biting his lip as he flicks and pinches in the way he knows will bring the most rapid arousal. The crowd surrounding him has grown in size and volume. They are as distracting as Spock's internal clock counting down precious seconds of time.

Spock drags his fingers through the meager slick beginning to drip through his slit and reaches behind him, fighting a grimace as he spreads his thighs further and circles his hole with a finger. He is unable to bend far with one of his arms already chained up on the pole. 

Spock drags his hand through the slick again and forces two fingers into his hole, stretching and scissoring at a pace too rapid to form arousal. He is barely able to add a third finger, and he feels his face flush as he fucks himself faster.

"Time's up," the diplomat says at the eight-point-one-minute mark. "Other hand, please." The soldier pulls up Spock's arm as he desperately attempts to stretch his hole one last time. 

The diplomat tweaks one of Spock’s nipples before finally stepping back. "Twelve hours, Ambassador." The diplomat and his soldiers disappear into the crowd.

Spock's chest heaves. He wraps his fingers around the chains, bracing himself as the first participant steps forward and pulls down his pants. 

Spock is unprepared for the girth of the cock forced inside him. He stifles a gasp as the participant pulls back to thrust deeper. The blunt pressure inside him burns, and yet it quells some of the endless desperate need within him, a desire that Spock currently despises with his entire being.

The participant continues to fuck him at a brutal pace. Sensations begin to blur. All Spock is aware of is being touched, being filled with a cock, a hand, with sticky alien substance, then being emptied before his hole is filled again. Semen is beginning to accumulate on his torso and between his legs, drying and flaking and dripping onto the ground.

A particularly tall participant pulls up one of Spock's thighs, leaving him awkwardly staggering on one foot. They fuck Spock in that position, hitting his prostate every time. Spock is unable to resist the whimpers of pain mixed with pleasure. His cock is beginning to slip from its inner sheath.

When the participant finally lets go, Spock leans on the support of the cuffs, groaning and trembling. His numb legs give way and he struggles to support himself again with gritted teeth. He feels something has broken inside him, and doesn't need a tricorder to know that his blood is mixing with the puddles of slick and semen.

A participant stands behind Spock and the pole, spreading Spock's thighs wide with multiple strong appendages, as far as they will reach. Holding him in place, he takes his clammy hand and slaps Spock between the legs, hard enough that Spock gasps and tries to jerk his thighs together. The appendages only spread his legs to the crowd wider. The hand gropes and explores before returning to the slit to steadily slap it again. Spock flinches at the contact every time.

There is cold pressure against the front of his sensitive slit, then an unpleasant pinching sensation. The appendages retract to reveal clips spreading the flushed folds of his slit wide open, exposing the inner sheath and partially erect cock.

Spock looks with horror at a very human individual in front of him, cock already out of his pants and in one hand. "Fuck, you look good." He speaks in Standard.

He is too tall, paler with a different hairstyle, and the voice is deeper, but it is impossible to deny the resemblance he bears to. . .

The participant with his appendages wrapped around Spock snaps at the human.

"You've fucking had your fun, get out of my way. I wanna see this Vulcan beg for cock."

"I will not beg," Spock says, immediate and harsh. As the human crowds the previous participant out of the way, Spock shifts his thighs, attempting to dislodge the clips without the use of his hands.

"You really sure about not begging? Even if I told you I could help with this little thing in that juicy cunt of yours?" The human tickles at Spock's partial erection, and Spock helplessly thrusts into the touch, desperate for simulation. The human lowers his voice. "You haven't orgasmed yet tonight, have you? It would probably help you loosen up. You still got a couple of hours to go."

There is a sinking feeling of despair as Spock mentally confirms the human's words.

The human's touch is clumsy and careless, but it is enough. Spock curses and bucks as the human pulls the cock from its sheath. He begins to rub his cock against Spock's. "Fucking hell, that's good." He yanks at Spock's nipples, and Spock groans loud and unsteady, gripping the chains tighter. The arousal is slowly building, growing more and more intense.

Right as Spock is about to orgasm, the human reaches forward and tightly squeezes the base of his cock. Spock cries out in exasperation, the orgasm curled back inside him.

The human grunts as he comes into his fist, all over Spock’s erection. He does not touch him again, leaving Spock writhing in despair. "Sorry, but you never begged for me, Vulcan." He pecks Spock on the lips before giving his cheek a condescending pat with his semen-coated hand. "Cute slut, though." 

His eyes are even more blue from close up.

Spock's throat sears with agonizing heat and something prickles in his eyes. 

He realizes he is crying. The individual in line behind the human sees Spock's tears and hesitates.

Another in line has no such qualms as he barrels past the hesitator to take his turn.

  
  


Spock lifts his head, disoriented as he feels his arms being lowered.

A soldier is undoing his cuffs, one by one. A second soldier approaches with a knife and Spock's mind goes blank. He cannot move.

The soldier merely cuts off the filthy red string around his neck, signaling the end of his public service. 

The first soldier gives Spock an impatient tap, sending sparks through his oversensitized flesh. "Either shoulder dislocated?"

"Left shoulder," Spock manages to say. He lets out a hoarse shout as the soldier sets it with brutal efficiency. 

"C'mon, grab your stuff. Going to the bathhouse." With little mercy, the soldiers watch Spock fumble to pick up his garments. His shoes have disappeared and are nowhere to be found.

As the soldiers walk, Spock trails behind, unable to care about the stares he garners as he trudges down the road naked and barefoot.

His bruised shoulders and nipples and slit ache fiercly, and he feels the tacky, unidentifiable fluids coating him all over his skin and between his legs. The piercing pain inside him has only grown. There's a sharp smell of his blood mixing with the foul odor.

The bathhouse is a public one, dark and poorly maintained. Spock is offered a low grade dermal regenerator before being told to make himself presentable for the diplomat. 

Spock turns the hot water on as far as possible and steps under the spray with a bowed head. He feels the lukewarm water roll off of him. Spock tilts his head back and lets the water pour into his open mouth. It tastes sweet. Spock gargles and spits, over and over. With listless movements, he begins to scrub at his aching flesh with the provided soap. It takes three passes before his skin stops feeling slippery.

Spock takes several steadying breaths before reaching a hand between his quivering thighs. He tries to clean his sheath and hole thoroughly despite the pulses of pain shooting up his spine. He takes the dermal regenerator and runs it behind him, attempting to quell the blood flow. The pain lessens considerably as he continues to run it, but he gives up after several minutes. Despite his efforts, he is still going to stain his underwear.

Spock towels off with an available ratty cloth that is abrasive to his sensitized skin. He dresses, and still barefoot, returns to the pristine and towering state house. 

He finds the diplomat in his office. The diplomat offers Spock paperwork. “Here are your signed negotiations. The prisoners begin transport in two hours.”

The diplomat looks Spock up and down.

"One more thing. I'm willing to make a little deal under the table while you're here: Twenty more prisoners of war along with the prisoners you negotiated for this morning."

Spock is frozen.

"Let me have two hours of your - time - and I'll add them to the deal. I promise upon my own life. We take sexual favors very seriously on this planet, Ambassador. What do you say?"

Spock's exhausted mind recoils. 

His insatiable flesh hungers.

Spock already knew what he was going to do the moment the diplomat asked for a bargain.

He slowly undoes his robe and lets it drop to the floor.

  
  


"Ambassador." The admiral on video call nods at Spock once. "I hope you are well."

Spock just sighs. 

They both knew exactly what Spock would be subject to before she requested he travel to that planet.

She proceeds to briskly ask, "Were the negotiations successful?" 

Spock is so, so tired.

"They were successful," he weakly confirms.

The tension in the admiral's shoulders eases. "Your reliability is highly appreciated."

"I am just thankful the captives are safe and will see their families again."

The admiral promises to send Spock's requested medication shortly. They end the call. Spock lies down on a blanket spread on the floor next to his bed, curled with his back pressed to the wall.

The restrained tears fall then. Tears of despair, of shame from the desire in his body for what he cannot have.

At the very least, Spock thinks, he can take comfort in the knowledge that Jim will never know what he is doing.


End file.
